


Thicker Than Water

by lavellanpls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Last Resort of Good Men, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavellanpls/pseuds/lavellanpls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14614.html?thread=57158422#t57158422">prompt:</a> <i>"Dorian travels with the Inquisitor to Redcliffe, but doesn't expect to be believed."</i></p><p>Lavellan has some very hard thoughts on what "family" means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Water

It all began with that insufferable _nun_. Apparently Mother Giselle thought recruiting Lavellan to lie for her would actually work in her favor. What a delightful surprise when it emphatically did _not_. Lilith handed the letter over to him immediately, and Dorian, furious as he was, managed to explain it without truly explaining. A “disagreement over his choices,” he believed he’d put it. Bit of an understatement, that. But if avoidable, he’d rather not explain the details—maybe eventually, in some edited version, but…

The Inquisitor had bigger things to worry about, and Dorian was not entirely convinced she’d ever want to worry about that.

The trip to Redcliffe was brief, but wrought with anxiety. Dorian argued back and forth with himself internally, still trying to decide if he should have explained his situation beforehand, if that even would have helped. The Inquisitor was a remarkable woman, true—but Dorian had met many seemingly remarkable people. He once thought his father among them. Time had proved him very, very wrong, on many, many occasions.

He was half convinced the Inquisitor would abandon him there, when the truth inevitably came out—a lying runaway, the great embarrassment of House Pavus, a black stain upon the Inquisition. If this “retainer” of theirs decided to simply knock him on the head and drag him back to Tevinter, would she stop them? Would she want to, after she found out? (She had preemptively vowed to “personally eat the first person to lay a hand on him,” but Dorian took that particular promise with a grain of salt. Lavellan did _so_ love her creative threats.)

Lilith didn’t pry, but even her most well-intentioned questions were met with a snippy remark. Dorian apologized after each, chalking it up to misplaced anger, but he expected he’d be apologizing more to her before the day was done. The poor woman thought she could help—thought she _wanted_ to. That obviously wouldn’t last.

The empty tavern was an admitted surprise. Call him a fool, but part of him had actually expected the letter to be truthful. He supposed he should have guessed the “family retainer” bit was nonsense. If he had, he surely would not have dragged the Inquisitor along. Bless her heart, even after his father stepped out of the shadows and revealed himself, even after Dorian’s tenuous grasp on civility started to slip, the misguided little thing still tried to help. When his father had the absolute gall to act mystified by his anger, she leapt blindly to his defense. “You lied to get him here! Wanted to _trick_ him! Dorian has every right to be furious!”

 _Ha!_ Oh, that did it. He shouldn’t have, and he knew it, but his father was so insufferably _smug_ and Dorian had never been a patient man, and he couldn’t help it. “You don’t know the half of it,” he warned. “But maybe you should.”

His father tried to stop him—probably a good idea, in all honesty—but Dorian went on. Couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was worth it just to have someone else _hear it_. “I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

Lavellan just stared. “And…?”

“Did I stutter? Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. _Surely_ you’ve heard of it.”

She looked so utterly baffled, he was afraid he’d have to spell it out for her, draw her a diagram, but she dismissed the notion with a shake of her head. “No, I know _that._ I meant how is that a problem? Is that…a big concern in Tevinter, then?” Well. Never let it be said the Dalish were close-minded, he supposed.

Oh, he would _so_ regret this.

The Inquisitor stayed silent, off in the corner likely very much regretting accompanying him on this awful affair. As if Dorian didn’t regret it enough for the both of them. She didn’t interrupt as he cited his father’s failings, his _country’s_ failings, all the sordid ways in which he wasn’t _right_ in a furious speech he’d gone over a hundred times but never truly prepared. But then the rage slipped up, cracked, and beneath it gleamed a bare and wounded shame. His next words didn’t come out as firm as he’d intended. They wavered, catching on a surprise bubbling of tears. “You tried to… _change_ me.”

“This display is uncalled for,” his father reprimanded. “I only wanted what was best for y-”

“ _Shut up,_ ” Lavellan commanded, and the unadulterated _fury_ of the interruption shocked them both. “He tried to _what?_ ”

“Out of desperation,” Dorian amended. “I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away. Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. He was going to do a blood ritual, alter my mind. Make me…acceptable.” His voice cracked on that last word, but he didn’t care to cover it up anymore. He didn’t care if she left him. Didn’t care if some hired thug forcibly dragged him back home at his father’s behest. Why did everyone have to care so much about this? Why couldn’t they just ignore him, leave him alone to live quietly broken? What he wouldn’t give to stop drudging up his every flaw and bloody _arguing_ about it, as if that somehow _helped_ …

Halward pushed on, an unswayed force. Unhearing, like Dorian had never even spoken. “Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him; to hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.” And it was that same awful, distant voice his parents were so skilled at deploying—a steady, even tone, a stark contrast with his own stupid _rage_. But of course that was always the difference between them, between him and everything his father needed him to be—Dorian was never in control.

He expected confusion on Lavellan’s part. Perhaps something darker—irritation, anger, _hatred_ even. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. After all, he _had_ lied to her. At the very least he’d left out parts of the truth, and few people took that well. What he had not expected, however, was for her to stalk up to his father, cock a gauntleted fist back, and punch him square in the face. Halward was knocked back, hit the wall behind him and slid to the ground grasping a bloodied nose while Lavellan stood, furious, over him. “ _You,_ ” she seethed through clenched teeth, “ _don’t deserve to call him your son._ ”

For a moment Dorian thought she’d hit him again. She looked ready enough to—fists balled, the muscles in her arms pulled so tightly they shook. For a brief, fleeting instant, Dorian wondered if she’d kill him. Worse, if he’d stand aside and let her. But she finally stepped back, fists still tight at her side. “Halward Pavus, until otherwise decreed, you are an enemy of the Inquisition. You’d do well to return home. _Swiftly_.” She turned back to Dorian. “If it’s all the same to you,” she said, “let’s get you out of here.”

Dorian caught his father’s gaze for only the briefest of moments, and pegged the man’s expression somewhere between infuriated and absolutely petrified. The irony, he thought, still relatively stunned, was not lost on him.

Lavellan followed him out of the tavern with a firm hand on his shoulder, and Dorian thought back to her initial threat. Suddenly he was glad his father hadn’t misguidedly attempted to touch him—he could now say with absolute certainty that she would have chewed his hand off.

Once outside, still marching them far away from the tavern, Lilith slowed. “Sorry I punched your dad,” she offered. “…or, sorry you _saw_ me punch your dad. I’m not sorry I punched him; he deserved it.” As if suddenly reminded, she discreetly attempted to wipe her bloody gauntlet against her pants. “He _really_ deserved it.”

“Not a fan of blood magic, I take it.”

“No, I’m just a big fan of _you,_ ” she corrected. “Exactly as you are. And that’s…” She made a furious noise low in her throat. “People think family is all about blood, but it’s not. Family is about having people who love you for you. Always. The whole ‘blood is thicker than water’ thing? People think it’s talking about blood _relatives,_ when actually it’s the opposite. Did you know that? The original phrase was ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ Meaning the family you choose is more important than the one you were born to. And _that_...” She nodded back to the Gull. “That’s not family. Family doesn’t do that.” Her hands, he noted, still shook. “You don’t deserve that.”

“He means well. In his own way. He truly does.”

“Good. He can mean well all the way back in Tevinter.”

“Don’t suppose he has much of a choice now, being banished and whatnot.”

Her expression fell. “Fuck. Right. I forgot about that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make up your mind for you; that’s not… You can forgive him if you want. Or you can not. You could go back to Tevinter and have a nice picnic with both of your parents; I’ll back you no matter what you do. _He_ doesn’t matter. You do. Alright? So just…do what’s best for you, but not for his sake. You’ll still have a family with or without him. Right here, yeah?” She gave another guilty sigh. “…shit. Sorry I punched your dad. It was…reflex, I guess.”

“Awfully curious reflex,” he snickered. “You didn’t even ask to hear his side of the story. How do you know I’m not the one in the wrong?”

Lavellan actually managed to look offended at that. “You’re my friend,” she maintained. “My loyalties will always lie with you, ‘til the end.”

“And if you’re wrong about me?”

“Then we’ll party together in the Void,” she decided. “…sorry again about punching your dad.”

“Don’t be,” he finally said. “He did rather deserve it, didn’t he?”

“He doesn’t really have to be an enemy of the Inquisition. I mean, he _is,_ at present, but I can probably take that back if you’d like.”

“Leave it,” he instructed. “Something to remember me by.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well. Whatever. I’m your dad now. I’m _both_ your parents.” She had to stand on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. “Now go clean your room.”

He had to laugh. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, but thank you.”

“Don’t question me, I’m your parent.” She hugged him tighter, and Dorian almost wondered if this was all some sort of trick—if maybe his father’s awful ritual had worked after all, and this was all some bizarre fever dream, a self-constructed delusion of him joining a grand Inquisition and having a furious foul-mouthed little elf-girl latch around his neck and try to _adopt_ him or something.

She gave a well-meaning squeeze. “Listen. Reality as you know it is just a human construct projected against an ever-shifting landscape of cosmic chaos. Somehow amidst the constant, swirling chaos of the cold and endless void, the whole of time and space converged just _so_ to create one very handsome mage. And that’s fucking _great_. So stop questioning the universe, alright? You’re perfect.”

Nope, he definitely didn’t dream _that_. Not unless he was quite impressively drunk, anyway. “Well that certainly took an unexpected turn for the existential, but thank you.” He meant to add something snarky to the end of that, but came up oddly short. No one had ever called him perfect before. Not…not like that. Not after knowing all the ways in which he was plainly _not_. “So that’s…not an issue, then,” he tested. “My, ah, _particular predilections_.”

Lavellan finally released her vice-hold on him, only to take him by the shoulders and stare determinedly into his eyes. “Dorian. You are exactly who you should be. And I love you. Never change.” She clapped him hard on the shoulder and broke into a more familiar grin. “Now go set the table for dinner, son.”

“Aren’t you younger than me?”

“A lady never tells, asshole. Don’t talk to your mother/father like that.”

He only rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. There’s no way _this_ will get old.” The smirk slowly faded. “…thank you. For coming along. And for the rest, also.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Now you’re obligated to come to my family reunions.”

“Hopefully not to fist fight your relatives,” he countered.

“No promises. Although I’m pretty sure they don’t have a problem with me liking women, so at least you can skip that.”

“Thank the Maker for small miracles, I suppose.” He began to nod, and immediately cut himself short. “…wait, you _what?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> *chanting in the distance* _queer best friends, queer best friends_


End file.
